


Down to Zero

by Draycevixen



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt:</p><p>Brand new dandy<br/>First class scene stealer<br/>Walks through the crowd and takes your man.<br/>–<i>Down to Zero</i> – Joan Armatrading.</p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down to Zero

.

 

It had taken six months, two weeks, four days, three hours and twenty-five minutes for Bodie to make his move. Not that he’d been counting or anything.

It had been a Tuesday night, six months, two weeks, four days, three hours and twenty-five minutes ago when he’d looked across the table over his third _we-survived-another-one_ pint of the evening and came to the sudden heart stopping realization that he was in love with Raymond Doyle. It had come as such a complete shock to him that he’d choked on his mouthful of steak and kidney pie and Doyle had had to thump him on the back several times until he could breathe properly again. _An inauspicious beginning_ , is the way Bodie fancied Cowley would have described it in a report, if he’d ever been stupid enough to tell Cowley.

Bodie, who’d never thought twice about touching Doyle, was now very self-conscious about it, leading to its own little comedy of errors. The week after the pie incident, Doyle had tripped over someone’s foot at the pub and Bodie had come close to grabbing him by the hips to steady him, only to pull his hands back at the last minute allowing Doyle’s wrist to collide awkwardly with the bar. Luckily, it turned out to only be bruised and not sprained. A few days later, Bodie, sat on the car bonnet, had moved as Doyle went to lean on him, leaving Doyle sprawled on the tarmac. At least it hadn’t affected their actual working relationship, the partnership still a well-oiled machine, although Doyle had chafed a little under Bodie’s ramped up protective streak, making more than a few caustic remarks about Bodie’s being no more bullet proof than he was.

And then, six months, two weeks, three days and twenty-one hours after realizing what his feelings were for Doyle, Bodie had had enough. When Doyle, at a loose end, had asked if he wanted to get a pint, he’d told Doyle that he had another date with the same fictitious girlfriend he’d been seeing for the last three months, the same fictitious girlfriend who preferred to be alone with him. Bodie had invented her when spending social time with Doyle away from the job had just become too frustrating, jealousy enveloping him even at something as innocuous as Murphy throw a friendly arm around Doyle’s shoulders. Doyle had responded with a bunch of wedding ring through the nose jokes, and Bodie had caught himself dangerously close to confessing that his honourable intentions were for Doyle alone. Well, not that his intentions were actually entirely honourable as he’d also been celibate for six months, two weeks, three days and twenty-one hours. Bodie had been having a much closer relationship with his hand than he’d experienced since his teen years and if _that_ didn’t change soon he was going to end up with arthritis in his wrist.

 

***

 

Bodie had gone home to his flat, taken a long shower and then shaved carefully before donning an all black outfit; black moleskin trousers, black polo neck jumper, black shoes, black leather jacket. It was as close as he could get to formal wear without turning up at Doyle’s door looking like a complete and utter prat. Bodie had every intention of going to his knees before the night was out, but not to ask for Doyle’s _hand._ He combed his hair carefully into place and turned to check his reflection in the mirror. Not bad.

As Bodie turned his car onto Doyle’s road his fingers started nervously drumming on the wheel. He was never nervous on a date but this was different. Bodie hadn’t been very far into his teens before he’d realized that most women, and a significant proportion of men, found him irresistible. Doyle, however, had never shown any sign that he found Bodie irresistible. In fact, he’d never seen Doyle look twice at any man for that matter. He’d never even caught Doyle staring at him idly in the changing rooms at the gym, the way even straight men often did, comparing physiques.

Bodie had pulled his car into the kerb before he was even aware of doing it. Two doors down from Doyle’s flat, so close, he was almost there, just a little further to go. He glanced in the rear view mirror at the pub on the corner and thought about having just a pint or two for Dutch courage.

He’d ended up closing the pub and by that time had made such a good impression on the locals that he’d been invited to stay for a lock-in. By the time he made it outside, he was feeling very relaxed and full of an easy affection for the world in general and for one man in particular. He was also considering it a wonderful thing that he’d selected a pub within easy walking distance of Doyle’s place. Looking back on it later, he’d realized that “staggering” might have been a more accurate word choice.

He’d leaned on Doyle’s doorbell until Doyle had invited him to come in – there had perhaps been a more extensive use of Anglo-Saxon than that, but Bodie had been willing to overlook any such unpleasantness – and in a few minutes he’d been face to face with Doyle, dressed only in track suit bottoms, obviously hastily pulled on.

“Christ Bodie, you smell like a brewery. Get your arse in here before you wake all the neighbours.”

Not quite the greeting he’d been hoping for or the impression he’d planned on making, but he was being invited in and surely his debonair charm could still salvage the evening.

Doyle stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What?”

“I think that’s supposed to be my question, or at least the start of one. You rang _my_ doorbell, remember?”

“Right.” Bodie spread his feet a little to counter a slight swaying of the flat’s floor and tried to concentrate. It turned out that debonair was a lot harder to pull off when the room was swaying.

He struggled to remember why debonair was so important to his plans... That’s right. The plan had been to seduce him first and then Ray he loved him. Just blurting it out might come as a bit of a shock.

“Look at you, gaping like a fish. Sit down before you fall down. I’ll make some coffee.”

“Don’t want coffee, want you” Bodie murmured into a Doyle-less room. He knew he should find him and tell him why he was here.

“Something happen with your girlfriend?” Doyle’s voice floated out from the kitchen.

That’s right, Ray had gone to make coffee. Bodie walked slowly and carefully across the room. After all, it wouldn’t be very debonair to trip over his feet.

“Only you said you were meeting her, you’re done up like the dog’s dinner and you look like you’ve been drinking for hours.”

Bodie could see him now, leaning against the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. Nobody in the history of the world had ever made such an art form out of leaning as Ray had, his body language always promising so much while at the same time warning that he’d kill anyone who tried to take it without permission. Well the SAS motto isn’t “Who Dares Wins” for nothing. Bodie edged closer.

“I really think you should sit down mate. You look about as confident as a pig on ice.”

So much for debonair. Bodie kept moving forward, stopping about a foot away from Doyle.

“Ray, I—”

Ray looked at him expectantly, but Bodie just couldn’t seem to get any more words out. It had all seemed so much easier, thinking about his plan over his sixth pint at the pub, particularly as the fifth pint had been the one to remind him that he could probably give Casanova lessons in the art of seduction.

The kettle started to boil and Ray started to turn toward it.

“No, wait.” Bodie grabbed hold of Doyle’s arm and turned him back to face him, before closing the space between them and bringing his mouth down clumsily on Doyle’s.

Bodie’s weight off balance knocked Doyle back into the counter, who brought up his arms and pushed back. Bodie swayed and then fell on his arse. Bodie looked slowly up the long line of Doyle’s body, from his bare feet, past the swell of his crotch and up over his bare chest before meeting Doyle’s angry eyes.

“Fucking hell, Bodie, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Dunno.” Bodie blinked slowly and stared at the floor, noticing a bottle cap tipped up against the wall under the sink unit.

“Look at you.” Letting out a long suffering sigh, Doyle reached down to Bodie. “Let’s get you up. Don’t try anything stupid else I’ll kick your arse rather than just dropping you on it again.”

Doyle grabbed Bodie’s hands and leaned backwards pulling Bodie up off the floor, before shuffling him backwards slightly into a kitchen chair.

“Sit there. I’m going to make you that coffee.”

Bodie had actually started to nod off when Doyle slammed a mug down in front of him waking him up. Doyle then sat down across the table from him with his own mug.

Doyle just sat and stared at him. It took all of Bodie’s bleary concentration not to look away.

“I—”

“Shut it Bodie. Listen to me. You might just be frustrated from fighting with your girlfriend, but I’d kill you if you were sober.”

Bodie had started to slump again as Doyle spoke and he had to thump Bodie’s arm to keep him awake.

“Tomorrow you’ll act like nothing ever happened. Now you’re not driving anywhere in your condition so you’re going to sleep on my couch.”

Bodie had woken up on Doyle’s couch at 6:00a.m. with no real memory of having got there from the kitchen. He had a crick in his back, a throbbing head and a mouth like the inside of a Turkish wrestler’s jockstrap. He pondered just lying on the couch and allowing himself to finish dying before the events of the evening came crashing back on him. He got up as quietly as possible, put his shoes back on and slipped out of Doyle’s flat. He’d have to face Doyle again, but not before he’d had the chance to finish sobering up.

 

***

 

The next morning Doyle had walked into the rest room, got a mug of tea and nodded in his usual fashion at Bodie before coming over to sit by him. Bodie had let out a breath he hadn’t even know he was holding. Doyle seemed to be staring at him a bit more than usual, but otherwise everything seemed normal. Bodie couldn’t entirely make up his mind whether he was relieved or disappointed that it hadn’t even meant enough to Doyle for him to stay angry longer. But if that was the way Doyle wanted to play it then that was the way it would be played.

They’d spent the day following a lot of useless leads and had traded the usual amount of conversation albeit in a more stilted manner than usual. When Doyle had suggested a drink after work Bodie had readily agreed, despite being almost bilious at the thought of more alcohol.

They’d talked of string and sealing wax… actually they’d talked about football and Doyle’s interest in a BSA motorcycle he’d seen for sale, the usual stuff. They’d even exchanged a few speculative comments about the new barmaid. Bodie had stopped at two beers, nursing both of them, and when Doyle had suggested having a nightcap at his place Bodie had said he was still feeling the after effects of the night before and had gone home alone.

Once there, Bodie had given himself a severe talking to about the need to be realistic. So, it wasn’t going to make any bloody difference to Ray that he was in love with him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been disappointed in love before, the story of his life in fact. He’d just have to try to keep his distance a little until the disappointment stopped gnawing away at him and just learn to be grateful that Doyle didn’t seem to bear him a grudge. He could live with it. He’d lived through worse and eventually things would get better.

 

***

 

Only things didn’t get better. They got worse, a lot worse. With each passing day Doyle had grown more morose and distant. It had got to the stage where he’d dreaded seeing Doyle anywhere near Cowley’s office just in case Doyle intended to quit or, even worse, ask for a new partner. Luckily, Cowley had them on surveillance duty. Bodie had never thought he’d be grateful for that, but it was a safe assignment and Bodie had begun to worry how badly their timing might be off if they were on a more dangerous assignment.

And then, just when Bodie thought things couldn’t get any worse, Cowley had called them into his office and introduced them to James Willett.

 

***

 

Bodie glanced across the rest room to where Doyle was reading the newspaper with an intensity level where his eyes should have been boring holes through the paper. Anything rather than talk to me.

Doyle would occasionally look up and scan the room, but he was careful never to make eye contact with Bodie, who found himself slumping further and further into his chair, staring at the top of Doyle’s head. Just for a moment, as Doyle glanced up and a grin spread quickly across his face, Bodie hoped it was directed at him. Hope died fast as Doyle rose to his feet.

“Jim!”

Bodie turned around to peer over his shoulder at James _bloody_ Willett, who was draped elegantly in the doorway. Six feet tall, muscular, blonde haired, chiselled featured, James _bloody_ Willett. Even Bodie had to admit Willett was tall and beautiful, although of course not engagingly modest at all. Willett was a symphony in tan from head to foot and as Bodie rose to his feet too and glanced down at his own all black outfit he realized he looked like Willett’s negative.

The only thing that stopped Willett from being MI5’s blue eyed boy was that his eyes were actually sea green, the very same eyes that never left Doyle’s arse, given half a chance.

Of course Cowley’s introduction had been merely for Bodie’s benefit as it turned out. Willett had worked briefly with Doyle when Doyle was still a copper and he’d remembered him. Of course he’d remembered him.

Bodie might feel unable to touch Doyle, but Willett had no such qualms. As he shook hands with Doyle he’d slipped his other hand up to Doyle’s elbow and seemed in no hurry to let go.

Willett was speaking as Bodie moved over to join them.

“Cowley says we’re on for today. We make a very good team, you and I, we should get Rawlings this time.”

“Willett.”

Bodie loomed up behind Doyle, attempting to stare Willett down. Willett didn’t even bat an eyelash, his hand still on Doyle’s elbow.

“Bodie.” Willett inclined his head slightly like he was acknowledging the presence of a bad smell. “You’ll be providing back up. It’s all been sorted.”

Willett steered Doyle out into the corridor, hand still on his elbow and Bodie had no choice but to trail along behind them. Well he did have choices but throwing a tantrum or beating Willett’s head into the wall repeatedly weren’t _really_ choices, although he enjoyed contemplating the latter one in particular as they went out to the car.

 

***

 

Three unbearable days had followed of Willett pawing Doyle and Bodie resisting the urge to kill Willett. Worse still, Doyle hadn’t made any move toward killing Willett either, instead smiling at him and even laughing at his jokes.

It hadn’t taken Bodie very long at all to realize that Willett really didn’t need them to set up Chief Inspector Rawlings, and then to become suspicious of what Willett’s real agenda might be. His worst suspicions had been confirmed when Doyle had let slip that he’d bumped into Willett at a pub just the week before Willett had requested Doyle’s help on the grounds of his Met experience. Again, Doyle who was usually so fast off the mark didn’t even seem to notice how superfluous they were to the operation.

Could Doyle really be so oblivious to Willett looking at him like he was a piece of meat? Perhaps Doyle was just so bloody straight it didn’t even occur to him that men might be interested in him. He’d seemed surprised enough when Bodie had tried to kiss him. Bodie’s one consolation lay in hoping he might be nearby if Willett was stupid enough to push the issue. Bodie was, after all, the sort of decent, dedicated and dependable partner who would help Doyle to bury Willett’s body, no questions asked. And if Bodie happened to whistle a happy tune while tamping the earth down with his shovel, where would be the harm in that?

 

***

 

It had been ridiculously easy to get Rawlings on film taking a bribe and he’d immediately offered to grass on everyone he’d ever taken a bribe from. They’d brought him back to CI5 on Cowley’s orders. Bodie, who’d ended up standing out in the rain for a couple of hours disguised as a porter, had gone immediately to change in to fresh dry clothes. He’d been surprised to find only Murphy in the rest room on his return.

“Murph, have you seen Doyle?”

“Willett is down finishing up with Rawlings. Doyle went after him to ask him if he’d join us for a drink.”

It wasn’t the best news Bodie had ever heard and it didn’t take but a minute to decide to go and look for them.

Down in the basement Bodie hesitated in front of the door that led to Rawling’s interrogation room. Silence. As he listened, he realized he could hear muted voices from further down the corridor. Bodie moved silently to the last room in the corridor where the door stood slightly ajar. Willett was standing close, too close, to Doyle, who was leaning against the wall.

“You can’t fool me Ray, I know you’re interested. The way you smile at me, even the way you’re leaning there, your body just screaming come and get it. Well, I’m coming.”

Willett leaned his body fully into Doyle, one hand going to the wall by Doyle’s head the other dropping to Doyle’s crotch as his head descended to take Doyle’s mouth.

Bodie waited for the inevitable murder, starting to think about what tune he’d actually whistle as he shovelled. No murder. As he watched, horrified, Doyle’s hands lifted, not to push Willett away or to maim him, but to wind upward into his hair.

Bodie stepped backwards and turned on his heel leaving as silently as he came. So it wasn’t that Doyle was straight, it was just that Doyle didn’t want Bodie.

Fair enough. Bodie squared his shoulders. He was a big enough man to be a graceful loser. At least his partnership with Doyle should be able to return to normal now that all hope was gone. He might even get to like Willett if he had to, if that was what Ray wanted. He might even be willing to contemplate falling in love again… in twenty years or so. But before all that he was going home to get gloriously drunk, drunk to the point where he wouldn’t be able to remember his own name even if he took the time to sew name tags in his underpants first.

 

***

 

Not quite two hours later, Bodie was feeling much better about everything. Or at least he would have been, if he were feeling much of anything at all. He’d had a few beers and he was well into a bottle of single malt when the doorbell rang.

The door seemed a long way away but with strength and great moral fortitude he made it over there, taking a moment to remember how the locks worked.

“Bodie. One of your neighbours let me in.”

Bodie turned back into the room, Doyle following him, setting the locks.

“Why didn’t you come for a drink?”

“Didn’t think you’d be there.” Bodie sunk into the couch and waved at the bottle on the table. “Get a glass if you want one.”

Doyle disappeared into the kitchen.

“Thought you’d be off scr… somewhere with Willett.”

“Why’d you think that?” Doyle’s voice drifted in from the kitchen.

“Murph said you’d gone to find him.”

“Yeah, to ask him to have a drink with us.” Doyle sat down on the other end of the couch, poured some whisky into his glass and put his booted feet up on the coffee table.

“So is he downstairs in the car?” Bodie stared straight ahead. Looking at Doyle was not an option. “You should go on. I’m half-cut, think I’ll stay right here.”

“I’m on my own.” Bodie could hear Doyle swallow some of his drink. “Funny thing. Willett made a pass at me.”

“Downright hysterical, that.”

“First you, then him. Wonder what brought all this on?”

“Simple, you’re gorgeous.” Bodie reached for the bottle and poured more whisky into his glass. If there were ever to be an England team for _Not Looking at Raymond Doyle_ he’d have just qualified for team captain.

“Said when you’re drunk of course.”

If Bodie hadn’t been sitting so close to Doyle he wouldn’t have even heard it.

“I hope the two of you will be very happy together. Where does MI5 register for gifts? Harrods? Or somewhere even more discreet?”

“You pillock. I sent him away with a flea in his ear.” Doyle sniggered.

“Could have fooled me.”

“You what?”

“Nothing.” Bodie stared deep into his glass.

“Christ, you could pout for England. Spit it out.”

Apparently, Bodie had more than one national team he could pick from. Amidst his heroic efforts not to look at Doyle, he’d forgotten that Doyle was free to look at him.

“I went down to the basement to find you. I saw _you_ kissing Willett.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“Obviously.”

“What you saw was Willett kissing _me_.”

“All right.”

“There’s a difference there Bodie, if you think about it.”

“Not really. I saw you kiss him back.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I saw you running your fingers through his hair and I left you to it before I lost my lunch.”

Doyle slammed his glass down on the table.

“What you saw was me getting ready to twist his ruddy ears half off.”

“What?” Bodie couldn’t stop himself from turning to look at Ray and there he was, trapped under Ray’s gaze like a bug under a microscope.

“Willett is MI5’s golden boy. He had me wedged against the wall, the bloody great oaf and—”

“You could have fought him off—”

“And I did, but I couldn’t afford to damage him in any way we might have to explain to MI5, or even worse, to Cowley. I can just imagine that conversation. ‘You see Sir, Willett thinks I’m gorgeous…’ I couldn’t take out his legs and if I kneed him he wouldn’t have ended up walking right either. If I’d punched him I—”

“I get the picture, go on.”

“So I went for his ears. Vulnerable things, ears. One short, hard twist and he let go of me fast enough, though I kept twisting them while I made a few further points to him about making assumptions.”

“Right then. So I shouldn’t start shopping for your toaster just yet?”

Bodie was right back where he’d started but he found he didn’t mind quite as much now. At least he was back to _Doyle is straight so he doesn’t fancy me_ rather than _Doyle is bent, but doesn’t fancy me._ He looked at Ray and tried to remember how exactly that was less painful.

“Still want you.” Bodie was alarmed to realize that he’d said that out loud and hadn’t just thought it. Apparently, the whisky was catching up with him.

“And you’re still drunk.” Doyle’s eyes narrowed further and his mouth set into an all too familiar line.

Discretion being the better part of valour, Bodie got slowly to his feet and headed toward his bedroom.

“See yourself out.”

Bodie made it as far as the bedroom door before deciding in his infinite inebriated wisdom that if he was ever going to tell Ray how he really felt this was the moment, his last opportunity to say it without completely destroying the partnership.

“—And I still love you.”

Doyle’s head whipped around to face Bodie but he didn’t say anything in response.

“Never mind, you can kill me when I’m sober. Goodnight.”

Bodie staggered across to the bed and fell across it, already nodding off.

Right before he fell off though he thought he heard Ray calling to him.

“What did you say about being sober?”

 

***

 

Bodie regained consciousness slowly, eyelids sticking together, a pool of drool under him on the pillow. He turned slowly onto his back feeling like he deserved a laurel wreath just for that Herculean achievement.

He went rigid as he remembered what he’d said the night before and then breathed out heavily, consciously working at relaxing his muscles. So he’d told Doyle that he wanted him and this time he’d even told him that he loved him. Doyle hadn’t killed him in his sleep and perhaps now that he’d said it the urge to blurt it out at the most inopportune moments would cease... and pigs would fly. He was going to have to get it under control and at least he had a couple of Doyle free days to do that in as Cowley had surprised them all by giving them a couple of days off after bringing in Rawlings. Bodie thought about quitting or asking to be assigned to a different partner, but what was the point? He knew no one else could watch Doyle’s arse — back, Doyle’s back — as well as he could, so why be worried all the time about Doyle’s safety on top of the frustration of wanting him. Doyle’s arse. Bodie felt his cock twitch. Perhaps one last wank before he started down the road to denial. He slid his hand down inside his track suit bottoms, took himself firmly in hand, and allowed himself to think of Doyle’s—

“Bodie, time to get up!”

It was an unfortunate choice of words. Bodie felt his erection growing further even as he ripped his hand back out of his track suit bottoms and looked toward the, thankfully closed, bedroom door.

“Get your arse in the shower, I’m making breakfast.”

If there was one thing that could get Bodie off that bed it was the promise of food. He fought gravity to get slowly to his feet, grabbed his bathrobe off the back of the bedroom door and slunk down the hallway to his bathroom. Why had Doyle stayed? Was it to be a case of the condemned man ate a hearty breakfast?

Wrapped in his bathrobe and with his hair still damp, Bodie finally made it to the kitchen, mesmerized by the smell of bacon. Doyle handed him a mug of coffee and pointed to a chair at the table.

“Sit.”

Doyle plonked a large plateful of bacon and eggs in front of Bodie and sat down across from him with his own plate. They ate in silence, Bodie being careful not to make eye contact but conscious of the feeling of Doyle’s eyes boring into the top of his head as he stared at his plate.

When Bodie had scraped the last of the egg off his plate with a piece of bread Doyle finally spoke.

“Why don’t you go and sit down while I get us some more coffee?”

Bodie did as he was told, gratefully sinking back into the cushions of the couch, glad the curtains were still drawn, filtering the sunlight.

Doyle handed him a mug of coffee and sat on the other end of the couch again.

“About what you said last night.”

“I was drunk. I don’t really remember what I might have said.”

“Liar. Look at me.”

Bodie turned slightly in the couch to meet Doyle’s eyes. “So I’m looking.”

“You said—”

“Do we have to do this? Can’t you just let something go for once? I want us to stay partners and—”

“You said ‘you can kill me when I’m sober.’ What made you choose those exact words?”

“Dunno.”

“ _Think_ Bodie, it’s important.”

Bodie was very tired of it all. If this was how things were going to end between the two of them, so be it. At least he’d say his piece.

“Remember that night I came over to your place and tried to kiss you?”

“Not that easy to forget. You’d had a fight with your girlfriend and—”

“No girlfriend, I invented her.”

Doyle choked on his coffee. Bodie moved as though to hit him on the back, but Doyle waved him off and put his mug down. He then waved for Bodie to continue.

“I invented her as an excuse not to have to spend so much time with you, worried what I might blurt out. That night, I’d had enough. I came over to your place to tell you how I felt, to seduce you. I got cold feet along the way and decided to have a beer or two—”

Doyle raised his eyebrows.

“—All right, drink a brewery dry for Dutch courage, so it wasn’t my finest moment. You knocked me down, pretty much what I was expecting but I had to try, I lo—want, wanted you. Then you told me you’d kill me if I were sober so I knew where I stood.”

Bodie laid his head back against the cushions and waited to see what the verdict on his method of execution would be. He was startled when Doyle started laughing.

“It’s not funny mate, not to me it isn’t.”

“Oh but it is.”

Doyle moved closer and then took the mug out of Bodie’s hand and put it on the table. He moved his hands to cradle Bodie’s head and Bodie flinched.

“You’re not going to twist my ears off are you?”

“No you stupid berk, but I should. What I actually said, cloth ears” Doyle tugged gently on Bodie’s ears for emphasis “was I’d _kiss_ you if you were sober. I thought _he’s drunk and his bird turned him down so he’s frustrated_. That wouldn’t have been enough for me.”

Bodie just gaped at Doyle, only inches away from him, as his brain struggled to catch up. Doyle shook Bodie’s head gently.

“So you’re pretty close to sober now, Bodie, what are you going to do about it?”

Bodie closed the last few inches between them and kissed him. Doyle kissed back and kept on kissing him, pushing him backwards and downwards into the couch until he was half on top of Bodie. Bodie jumped as Doyle opened his robe and grasped Bodie’s erection in a firm hand, stroking upward.

Bodie tried to speak but Doyle used the opportunity to slip his tongue further into Bodie’s mouth.

In just a few minutes, Bodie’s erection was arching back toward his stomach, glistening with pre-come, as Doyle played him, caressing his balls, dragging slowly and firmly up his length.

Bodie felt bereft a few minutes later when Doyle’s hand slipped from his cock, then he heard Doyle’s zip being pulled down. Doyle lined up their cocks and wrapped his fist around both of them, pushing velvet skin against velvet skin in a tight, hot friction.

Bodie ripped his mouth back from Doyle’s. “I’ll never last.”

“Finesse later. It’s been too bloody long for me.”

In just a few strokes it was over, both of them coming together, the sticky pool cooling on Bodie’s stomach. Doyle ran his fingers through it before raising them to his mouth. Bodie caught hold of one of Doyle’s fingers and sucked it clean.

Doyle got up and then pulled Bodie up off the couch.

“Bed.”

Bodie followed Doyle on shaky legs, his open robe flaring out behind him.

By the side of the bed, Doyle stopped and turned, kicking his boots off. He pushed Bodie’s robe from his shoulders and placed his hands on Bodie’s naked arse as he moved in to kiss him again, before he stepped back and reached for his shirt buttons. Bodie laid his hand over Doyle’s, stopping him.

“My turn.” Bodie dropped Doyle’s hands to his sides and started working on the few buttons Doyle had bothered to do up. He peeled Doyle’s shirt off, hands caressing his chest, and then dropped to his knees to pull Doyle’s jeans and underpants the rest of the way off, leaving him on an eye level with Doyle’s jutting sex. As Bodie licked his lips and leaned forward, Doyle grasped hold of Bodie’s ears and pulled upward.

“Later. I want to feel you against me.”

Doyle collapsed both of them on to the bed, being sure to make contact between every available inch of skin, before kissing Bodie again, nipping at his throat and tonguing at his ears. Bodie felt like he was drowning in him.

Bodie flipped Doyle over and started to kiss his way down his chest, stopping to tease the flat brown nipples, swirling his tongue into Doyle’s belly button, biting lightly at the thin trail of hair from belly button to cock. Bodie teased at the head of Doyle’s cock, before swallowing him, causing Doyle’s body to arch up toward him, almost gagging Bodie in the process. Bodie dragged his tongue slowly up the length of him, hand moving to fondle Doyle’s balls, thinking about ways to draw it out, make it last… make it last? _Finesse?_ Something finally connected in Bodie’s still somewhat hung over mind. His head jerked up, making eye contact with Doyle.

“You said ‘too bloody long’ Ray, who else—”

“No one else, it’s just been too bloody long since I’ve been with anyone at all. Since I first realized how I felt about you, seven months, one week, three days…”

 

.


End file.
